


The End of the World Affair

by linda92595



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E., Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canniblism, End of the World, M/M, Prostitution, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 10:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linda92595/pseuds/linda92595
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A THRUSH scientist develops the Croatoan virus planning to unleash it in attempt to destabilize world governments. But the virus mutates and instead causes a world-wide pandemic of cannibalistic zombies and the entire world is reduced to a post-apocalypse nightmare. UNCLE agents Napoleon Solo and his partner Dean Winchester gather together any survivors they can find in the tiny town of Neville, New York to head to a camp in South Dakota. Among those survivors are two prostitutes from a local brothel called the Abbey, Castiel Novak and Illya Kuryakin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the World Affair

**Author's Note:**

> I have moved this story from the 60s when UNCLE first ran to 2012, even though Napoleon and Illya are roughly the same age they were on the original TV series. That keeps them more in the same age range as the guys from Supernatural.

The sun was setting low in the horizon when the French doors to the patio of the mansion opened and two people spilled out to the sounds of laughter and the tinkle of music. The man was tall, suave with thick dark hair and smooth tanned skin. He laughed again sliding an arm around the young lady at his side. She shivered as a breeze picked up ruffling the gauzy material of her dress.

“Oh, Mr. Solo,” she bubbled and the man turned fixing a smarmy grin on his face. The girl leaned in close puckering as if she expected him to kiss her, but Solo dodged her waving a passing waiter over.

“Oh boy…over here and snap to it.”

The waiter’s jade green eyes narrowed and he hefted the heavy tray of glasses he bore walking smoothly and quickly over to the couple. But just as he reached them some, unseen, thing on the patio caught his foot and the tray dipped glasses toppling splashing champagne all over the man. He jerked back as the cold liquid soaked his jacket hissing, “You clumsy fool!”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” the waiter said horrified. Quickly he produced a white bar towel from the waistband of his dark trousers and began wiping at the soiled jacket.  Solo slapped at the waiter’s hand.

“You’re making more of a mess. You’ve ruined my jacket!” Solo snapped vehemently and the waiter shot him a grin, winking. Solo frowned.  Stepping back the slightly taller man bowed gallantly.

“Perhaps if you come inside, sir? I think some club soda will work on the stain.” the waiter said smoothly. Now the girl looked miffed. Frowning she touched Solo’s arm, but the waiter intercepted her bumping her away with a hip. “Just inside the kitchen, sir.”

Solo offered the girl a sorrowful glance raising her hand to his lips he kissed it briefly, “I will bid you adieu, for the moment, my dear. I fully intend to have Dr. Lambert discharge this unruly brute.”

The waiter followed along mimicking Solo’s outranged expression behind the girl’s back. Solo’s lips clamped together in a thin line of disapproval. As the girl turned the waiter’s face morphed into a suitably distraught expression. Solo grasped him by the arm tugging him along. “Come along now my good fellow. Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”

As the two men marched through the living room of the huge house they disappeared around the staircase leading upstairs to the bedrooms. The girl fell behind as both men turned down the hall toward the kitchen. But as soon as the girl wandered back to the party, Solo released the waiter’s arm. “Upstairs, Dr, Lambert’s study is on the right. The safe is behind a painting.”

Dean Winchester followed his partner up the stairs stripping off the red waiter’s coat and turning it inside out so that a black tux jacket now covered his trousers.  “I don’t suppose you know which painting.”

Napoleon Solo, UNCLE agent, smiled at the younger man. Shrugging, Dean rolled his eyes. And Solo scoffed, “Hey, even I can only work so fast. His niece was a tough cookie to crumble.”

“Oh I bet, Napoleon, you sure look like you’re suffering.” Dean grinned scurrying up the stairs. Solo sighed following along after the taller man. Dean ducked around the corner at the top of the staircase glancing around before he slipped into the study. Napoleon followed along behind. They split up moving to different walls before beginning the process of moving each framed painting looking for the wall safe hidden behind.  Panting Dean moved quickly from one framed piece of art to the next. Solo glanced over his shoulder, “You’re breathing hard there, partner mine. Maybe you’re out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” Dean snapped, “I’ve been lugging boxes and crates all day. Next time you get to be the waiter and I’ll seduce the girl.”

“Each to his talents,” Solo said airily, “I’m the suave one; you’re the one good for brute force.”

“Suave my ass.” Dean hissed. Now Solo snorted.

“And a fine ass it is, but be that as it may. Hold on here.” Napoleon quickly tugged the painting in front of him from the wall, “Bingo!”

Dean hurried over to his partner, “Okay I’ll show you some of that brute force now.”

Napoleon moved away from the painting as Dean pulled a small plastic baggie out of his trouser pocket. Smoothing the baggie against his thigh Dean drew out a small metal tab and a ball of clay-like plastic explosive. Glancing at his partner he nodded, “Get ready with the smoke alarm.”

Nodding Napoleon drew a cigarette lighter from his pocket and clambering onto of a solid looking end table held the lighter to a tiny sliver of cardboard. The rough brown fibers of the cardboard caught flame and the UNCLE agent blew gently causing the flickering ember to pour out a small stream of white smoke. He hefted the smoking mass to the white smoke detector in the ceiling.

The alarm blared into life just as Dean popped the detonator cap onto the Plastique smashing the explosive to the face of the safe on the wall. There was a muffled blast barely audible over the fire alarm and the safe door sprang open.

Coughing Napoleon waved the smoking cardboard under the smoke alarm then jumped down from the table glancing behind him to make certain that Dean had relieved the safe of its contents. The other agent was just tucking a manila envelope into his trouser waistband as he scurried across the room following his partner down the hall to the staircase.

They joined the res t of the partygoers heading out the front door to the lawn. Both men faded into the crowd of revelers milling around on the grass as the fire engines pulled into the driveway. Dean strolled casually across the yard to the small parking area behind Napoleon as the other man fished a Valet ticket out of his jacket pocket and thrust it at the bored looking young man standing at the far end of the driveway.  The valet took the ticket and appeared a few minutes later with Napoleon’s classic Austin Martin idling beside the two men. Grinning at his partner Napoleon shrugged a shoulder at Dean, “Do you mind tipping the lad, Deano?”

Grumbling under his breath Dean fished his wallet out of his trousers tossing a ten to the valet and sliding into the front seat beside his partner. Napoleon pulled the car out of the driveway past the fire truck before anyone noticed that the two men were gone. Smiling Dean tucked the envelope of papers into the glove compartment as his partner pulled the car onto the main road back into the tiny upstate New York town of Neville.

Napoleon sighed as he cast a glance over at the other man. Dean was a good looking guy, a few years younger than solo’s thirty-six, but not his type. Besides Napoleon was a senior agent and he didn’t want any relationship he had to taint that professional bond he had developed with Winchester over the past ten years they had been paired together at UNCLE. Ever since Dean had come out of survival school at twenty-three still wet behind the ears and so earnest it made Napoleon cringe.

As the Lambert estate fell behind them the two agents surveyed the road, but no sign of any vehicle appeared, no headlights behind them; nothing marring the still quiet of the night. Dean finally settled back in the seat, still watchful but not as on edge as he had been. Napoleon shot his partner a smarmy grin, “Another task, well in hand. We just need to pop by the UNCLE office in Neville and drop these documents off and we are free for the evening.”

Dean shrugged, “I’m way too keyed up to call it a night. How about we go by the Abbey and get a drink.”

The senior agent considered the idea and found it to be satisfactory. Still he couldn’t help a teasing little wink at his partner, “Are you sure a drink is all you want to partake of”

Dean flushed crimson, knowing he had been caught out by his perceptive older partner. Napoleon could not have failed to notice that Dean had been paying more than a passing amount of attention to one of the many more than attractive members of the Abbey’s extensive  staff of ‘personal companions’.

It was a short trip to the local UNCLE office in Neville, and then Napoleon turned off the main road onto a side street up a tree lined boulevard into a more prosperous and rural area. Smiling at his partner Dean rolled the window down and let the night air wash over him as they drove. The road was still and silent and Dean thought he might have dozed off, but his partner didn’t seem to mind. When they pulled Napoleon’s car into the driveway for the huge old building Dean leaned back taking in the sedate, elegant surroundings.

The Abbey had, at one time, actually been a monastery.  It was an imposing edifice of four wings, three of which comprised the commercial areas and one wing which housed two apartments for the building’s two owners, Francis Crowley and Balthazar D’Anjou.

The remaining three wings contained the fifty private rooms of the staff, a large gourmet kitchen, and a five star restaurant and bar, and a casino. The Abbey was a legal brothel, and was strictly regulated by the State of New York. The commercial areas were all non-smoking and no one under the age of twenty-one was allowed into the casino or bar. And no one under the age of eighteen was employed at the Abbey or made use of it professional services. All the ‘attendants’ were examined by a doctor and could provide medical certification as being free of disease.

While many people had tried to shut the doors of the business over the years, and more than one right-wing nut job in congress derided the place on many occasions, it stayed open…prosperous and infamous.

The valet, a pretty tiny girl in dark pants and a white dress shirt took the keys to the Austin Martin as Napoleon and Dean climbed out of the car. The front door was guarded by an imposing man with chocolate colored skin and a smoothly gleaming bald head. Dean nodded, “Uriel.” He said.

The bouncer frowned giving Dean the stink eye, but stepped aside, “Remember I’m watching you, Winchester.”

“Now, now gentlemen,” Napoleon said offering Uriel a gallant smile. The other man rolled his eyes. Dean had gotten on his bad side by paying just a tad bit too much attention to one of the prostitutes, whom Dean thought the other man might have a thing for.

As they stepped into the room Dean caught sight of the man in question. Castiel Novak would have stood out in any crowd, although he was not an imposing man. He was of average height, slender build and maybe a couple of years older than Dean himself. But it was the dark mass of tousled brown hair that Dean noticed until the prostitute turned around and the agent was transfixed by Castiel’s blue, blue eyes.

Dean cast a glance at his partner and noticed Napoleon surveying the bevy of curvaceous beauties sitting in chairs in the front room. These were the on-call staff, who usually worked the Walk-in business. Castiel and his friends at the bar had to have their time booked well in advance. Dean had been aghast to find out that Castiel, and the other high-end talent, was booked at one thousand dollars an hour. And at a fifty-fifty split with the house Castiel usually made more money in a week than Dean made in a month.

Sighing Dean sidled up to the bar, caught the bartender’s eye, and ordered a beer. They had the good stuff on tap and Dean watched as the amber brew filled a well-chilled mug. No one could say they did anything half-assed at the Abbey. The perfectly pulled beer settled on a cocktail napkin and Dean reached for his wallet.

The bar-tender, herself, a more than attractive red-head smiled, “Mr. Crowley has arranged a tab for you and Mr. Solo. “

Dean tipped her anyway, and whirled around on his stool watching as Castiel disappeared up the stairs with an elderly man in an Armani suit. Before Dean had finished his glass the two men reappeared, the elderly man patting Castiel warmly on the arm as he headed for the door.

The prostitute spotted the UNCLE agent and smiled. Ambling over to the bar Castiel raised a hand and the bartender appeared almost as if by magic. “Anna, a club soda with a twist of lemon,” he said quietly.

The young woman smiled, “Sure thing, Cas.”

Dean huffed, “Sure you don’t want a beer?”

Castiel sighed, “No alcohol on duty. It interferes with my job performance.”

“Are you done for the night?”

Shaking his head Castiel sipped at his glass, eyes falling shut in appreciation. “No, I’ve got one more client tonight. In an hour. I need to shower, come up to my room with me?”

Dean thought about turning him down but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen so he didn’t even put up a token fight. Castiel leaned over the bar tugging out a bottle of beer, and another Perrier. Anna shot him a disapproving glare.

Dean paused only briefly to catch Napoleon’s eyes as his partner was holding court over the assembled girls giggling at his outrageous stories. Dean cocked his head at one of the blondes, “So anything catch your eye?”

Napoleon shrugged, “I was thinking of trying something a little more exotic tonight.”

The elder UNCLE agent cocked his head toward a small, slender blonde figure also sitting at the bar. Dean followed his glance and shivered. Illya Kuryakin was one of the high-end talents along with Castiel. But unlike Cas Illya was a ‘specialist’ although Dean had yet to work up the courage to ask exactly what that entailed.  Just the fact that the small Russian was nicknamed the Ice Prince gave Dean pause.

Dean surveyed the smaller man. Illya was as beautiful as Castiel. Barely five-eight and slim of build Illya had a thick shock of platinum blonde hair and eyes that rivaled Castiel’s in their blue depths. Dean would have gone for him if Castiel hadn’t so thoroughly captured the younger agent’s heart.

“You’re a braver man than I, Napoleon.”

Dean followed Castiel meekly up the wide staircase to the second floor. The prostitute’s room was mid-hall on the right side and Dean was pretty certain he could find it blindfolded. He paused wondering if the other man would do that if he asked. Castiel was fairly liberal in his leanings although not a ‘specialist’ in the professional sense of the word. Dean was going to man up and asked Cas just exactly what that meant considering the words ‘fetish provider’ had never been in the agent’s vocabulary before he had met the other men.

Pushing open the door Castiel began stripping out of his clothes as soon as he entered the room. Dean followed along watching appreciatively. Castiel turned smiling, beckoning Dean over.  “Do you want anything, Dean?”

“I can wait,” the agent said stiffly but Castiel whirled running his hands up Dean’s arm.

“How about a quickie? A blowjob to tide you over.” Before Dean could say anything in return the prostitute dropped to his knees working the fastenings on Dean’s trousers. He had the agent’s dick in his hand and then his mouth before Dean could even draw a deep breath. Castiel worked him like he was the most delicious delicacy he had ever eaten, and Dean was gasping and coming so quickly it was little embarrassing.

Rising up Castiel planted a firm kiss on Dean’s lips letting the agent lick the taste of himself off the prostitutes lips. “How about you?”

Shaking his head Castiel stepped back, “No I need to save it for the judge.”

“Judge?” Dean queried. But the other man back away with a smirk.

“You know I can’t kiss and tell.”

“I’m pretty sure that john-whore conversation is not covered under Client privilege laws.”

“What did I tell you about that word?’” Castiel said with a frown. Dean flinched. It was one of the things that had gotten him firmly at the top of Uriel’s shit-list. No one in The Abbey was merely a whore. It was gauche.

Finally the prostitute settled on a chair glancing at the clock on the bedside table. “You have to wait downstairs. My client will be here in twenty-five minutes and I need to clean up.”

Dean sighed pulling his pants up and tucking in his shirt, “So judge…huh? Anybody I know?”

“Probably, but you won’t hear his name from me. I’ll tell you he’s a New York Supreme Court judge though. A nice elderly man.”

“They’re all elderly men.” Dean said drily. Castiel shushed him.

“He’s, in the common vernacular, a cock-sucker. He gets off on having another man’s dick in his mouth. So basically I’m getting paid five hundred dollars for a guy to give me a blowjob.”

Dean glowered and Castiel flipped him the finger. Shaking his head Dean sighed moving toward the door, but the other man grabbed his arm, “Come back at eleven, okay? Sleep with me tonight.”

“I don’t know…”

“Hey, that you can have. I never take all nighters. You’re the only one I sleep with on a regular basis.”

“Okay, but tell me one thing,” Dean said then held up a hand at Castiel’s glare. “What does Illya do? I mean besides the obvious. What’s his specialty?”

“Oh they call him the Ice Prince for a reason. Think dominatrix, but male…lots of black leather and a riding crop.” Castiel even giggled. “Some of the big ones he rides like a horse. He even makes them whinny!”

“And they pay him for that?” Dean asked incredulously. Castiel cocked his head then grinned.

“Hey, one of Illya’s regulars, a cop by the way, pays him to piss on him.”

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Dean said leaning in he kissed Castiel on the cheek, “I’ll be back. Oh, and Cas, would you piss on me if I paid you?”

“I’d piss on you even if you didn’t pay me.”

Dean smirked, “Now that’s true love.”

 

 

Napoleon Solo settled on the barstool next to the slim young blond. Solo knew the Russian had a finicky reputation and he was very picky about clients. Still the senior UNCLE agent had a reputation of his own. While his mid-western farm boy partner was content to woo at a snail’s pace Napoleon was more of hard charger himself. He just hoped that he could fracture the Ice Prince’s cold shell.

Shifting in his seat Napoleon motioned the bartender over. Anna appeared with a smile dropping a cocktail napkin on the gleaming wooden surface she deposited the UNCLE agent’s perfectly made martini before he could even get out a word. Shooting her a charming grin Napoleon lifted the drink to his lips, closing his eyes appreciatively.

“Oh, Illya,’ he breathed around the rim of the glass. The blonde shot him a sideways glance, tiny smirk playing over his features, “If you’re free for a moment, perhaps a bit of conversation.”

Shrugging one immaculately clad shoulder the Russian took a sip of his own drink, Vodka, if Napoleon was any judge. Finally Illya deigned to answer, “Usually when a man asks me for a bit of conversation he is interested in a bit more than conversation.”

“And if I am also interested in just a tad bit more than simple conversation?” The senior UNCLE agent said arching a brow. The Russian merely sniffed, draining the rest of his glass and sliding it onto the bar.

“Well, you have not booked an appointment…”

Napoleon smiled, “Think of it as a personal favor.”

Now Illya stiffened face carefully neutral, but oh so cool that the agent felt a shiver crawl down the length of his spine. “Really Napoleon, a favor of that magnitude should be asked …on…your…knees.”

Napoleon felt his dick twitch hopefully in his trousers, “Here?” he asked aghast, “In the bar, in full view of God and man?”

Now the Russian smiled, “Of course. But if you’re not up for it.”

“You’d be surprised what I’m up for.” Napoleon responded picking up the younger man’s hand and dropping into the agent’s lap. Illya gave the older man’s semi-hard cock a little squeeze then pulled his hand away.

“Still, you haven’t said pretty please.”

Napoleon grinned, “Well, you have to do some of the work here, tovarisch.”

“Don’t think a few words of badly accented Russian will sway me. I still don’t see you on your knees.” Illya huffed flouncing out of his seat and sashaying across the floor. The UNCLE agent watched him go. There was a hint of cold steel in the Russian, sharp as the blade of a knife, and more than a hint of danger. Napoleon found that he was captivated, and excited, by both.

 

Doctor Michael Lambert hissed in anger as he found the safe in his study blown open. He was fairly certain that he knew who had cracked the safe. After all one of his guests from the prior evening, and one of the waiters from the catering company had disappeared at about the time that the fire alarm had gone off during his party. It didn’t take much imagination to determine that the men had been responsible.

But it was of no great importance. Yes the information they had gathered was important. And yes UNCLE was a nuisance, but Dr. Lambert’s position in THRUSH was of such great value that he would, at worst, receive a scathing phone call.

Grumbling under his breath the doctor swiped his security badge through the card-reader at the main door of GEN Y Laboratories nodding at the guard seated behind a bank of monitors at a desk along one wall. The guard nodded pleasantly but Lambert was not fooled; the man would kill you as soon as look at you. And he knew it.

The doctor sighed pushing the button to the elevator. He took the car down to the lowest level and the paused at the door to the lab to pull on his bright orange HazMat suit. Carefully he punched in a code to a small metal safe set into the wall and pulled out a set of keys. The small metal key jangled in his hand as he manipulated the oversized rubber gloves to turn the lock. The double glass doors swooshed open then closed behind him. Finally Doctor Lambert used the second key on the ring to open the inner doors walking into the lab with ease.

There were cages along either side of the huge room, lit by a soft blue light. At first the cages had held chimps and other large primates, but as the doctor approached the first cage he could see the lone occupant sitting on a military type metal bunk placed along one wall.

The man inside the cage was elderly, worn and thin from years of alcohol abuse. His short frizzy brown hair was cleaner than it had been the first time that Lambert t had seen the man, but no less tangled and snarled. His lean, wrinkled face was covered in a few days stubble, thin cheeks and sunken lips fuzzy brown.

He looked up at the doctor with a bleary grin revealing yellowed broken teeth. Offering the doctor a vacant grin he leaned against the bars, “Hey…Doc, how’s it goin’ today?”

“Ahh, Mr. Riley” Doctor Lambert said with a grim smile, “Fine…it’s a lovely day outside. If you cooperate we’ll get to go out to the quad for a picnic lunch, eh?”

“Picnic lunch, wow, you folks sure do like to eat around here.”

“Well,” Lambert said with another grim smile, “I like all my lab assistants to be well fed.”

Riley looked down at the blue surgical scrubs he was clothed in, then at the white lab coat hanging on a hook on the outside door of his cell. If he thought it the least bit odd that the doctor’s lab ‘assistants’ were kept locked in cells he didn’t voice the opinion. And if he thought the fact that all the laboratory staff dressed in HazMat suits was odd he kept that to himself as well.

A young woman brought a tray of instruments and a small laptop to Doctor Lambert and he inspected the tray carefully. Finally, he picked up a syringe and a vial of amber colored fluid drawing off a small amount. Turning to the cell the doctor motioned Riley over. The older man went without complaint.

He flinched a little when the needle was inserted in his arm, but smiled readily enough when the doctor nodded approvingly. “Okay, Mr. Riley…I’ll have Gladys here get you a basket ready for your lunch.”

The nurse shuffled frowning behind her plastic hood but took the tray away minus the laptop and went to the phone on the lab wall.  After the nurse and his ‘patient’ had disappeared out the lab door headed to the enclosed grassy area inside the walls of the compound for their picnic Doctor Lambert settled  into a chair behind a big Formica topped desk picking up a headset and microphone. Carefully he began noting the day and time on his entry then began quietly adding, “The first human subject has been injected with the H1 Z1 virus on this date. I will be injecting three other subjects today and watch the progress of the disease. If all goes well the clinical trials of the virus can be completed in three weeks and the virus will be ready to distribute to THRUSH outlets for dispersal within one month’s time.”

 

 

Alexander Waverly sat stiffly in his seat staring at the webcam on his PC monitor situated squarely in the center of his huge golden oak desk. The image of his senior agent for the Northwest area was somewhat garbled as if their Skype connection was bad. Although Waverly thought it might just be that Solo was trying to reach him from a laptop, probably over some shady wireless connection in a bar somewhere, or even worse that Den of Iniquity that he and his partner frequented whenever their cases took them upstate New York.

Sighing the elderly man settled back watching Solo’s grin as the senior agent in question straightened in his seat, “Yes sir. Dean and I have been able to secure the THRUSH codes from Doctor Lambert’s safe.”

Nodding Waverly smiled, “Have you also been able to ascertain exactly what the codes are used for?”

Shrugging Napoleon shot his boss another grin, “Well, that’s proving a little more problematic. But we are working on it. Lambert is associated with a medical facility just outside of the city limits of Neville. Dean and I are going to do a little more research on what exactly that clinic does. I have a feeling that these codes pertain to some lab at that medical facility.”

Now Waverly snorted, “I have a feeling that Winchester is doing quite a bit more research on the charms of one Castiel Novak, at that house of ill repute.”

Cursing under his breath the senior agent smiled wider. How had the old bastard found out about that? But he sighed to himself, of course he would. Waverly had been a spy before he became an administrator, and no one could say that the head of UNCLE Northeast was anybody’s fool. Of course, Waverly had found out about Dean’s infatuation with the prostitute.

Closing the connection Napoleon handed Dean the laptop. The other agent folded it tucking it neatly into the vinyl bag he carried then sliding it under his chair. They were ensconced in the dining room of the Abbey yet again. It seemed as if they always ended up either here or the bar.

Solo whirled on his barstool staring his partner in the face. Dean shrugged, uncomfortable under the scrutiny but shrugging it off. Finally the older agent cleared his throat, “So just how far in are you with this whore?”

“Cas doesn’t like that word,” Dean said hesitantly and Solo cringed.

“And that tells me what I wanted to know.” The senior agent sighed, “Look Dean…God knows I have no right to give anybody advice on their love life. You know my reputation…”

“Napoleon, everybody knows your reputation. Hell, Thrush uses it against us about once a month.”

The senior agent pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “Dean, if you want to get involved with this whor…. Uhhh, Castiel that’s your business. I think that your reputation in UNCLE will give you some advantage. The old man likes you Dean…more than I think he likes me. And Castiel is no slouch, he’s educated and polite, and let’s face it he’s pretty easy on the eyes. But and this is a big one…he’s also well known. I checked into some of the Abbey’s regular clientele. Castiel’s clients include some well know athletes and one Superior Court judge…”

Dean frowned, “Supreme Court Judge.”

“What?” Solo snapped. Dean turned shooting him his best shit-eating grin and the senior agent flinched.

“Be that as it may,” Solo added, “If you decide that you want to make this thing with Castiel more permanent then you had damned well better be ready for the ramifications.”

Dean shrugged, “Yeah well, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Smiling Solo clasped the younger agent on the shoulder, “When do you ever? Come on let’s get back to the main parlor. I think that they are just getting ready to close the doors.”

Dean smiled again, “Yeah, Cas should just be getting done for the evening.”

 

The bed was soft and warm, and the firm body in his arms lax with sleep, but Dean still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he had developed after his brief conversation with his partner after dinner. Napoleon was right. Dean’s family would be accepting of the other man. It was no secret that Dean was an equal opportunity player in the field of love. He had had as many boyfriends during high school as girlfriends, so his preference was no surprise. Even his dad, a former Marine, had been accepting, if skeptical regarding his older son’s sexual feats. He just sighed heavily and shook his head, but Dean could live with that. His mother was always the bright spot of his young life, and she was unwavering in her love and support for both Dean and his younger brother Sam. Although Sam’s pretty girlfriend Jessica was something of a shock for the nerdy, and in Dean’s mind, geeky younger Winchester. Sam was just finishing laws school at Stanford and Dean had made up his mind to take Castiel to the graduation ceremony in Palo Alto so the entire Winchester clan could meet him.

Now laying snug and warm, riding a post coital high with Castiel in his arms Dean felt some…odd feeling creeping into his body, a sort of precognition that something, despite every success he had had, was going to go horribly wrong.

Shaking the feeling off Dean rolled slightly away from the other man stroking his hand down Castiel’s back and cupping his right ass-cheek in his palm. Castiel sighed shaking himself awake, “Dean?” he murmured.

“Cas,” the other man hissed nuzzling his neck as he let his fingers skim the crease of Castiel’s ass. Castiel wriggled provocatively and the UNLCE agent brushed his finger over the smaller man’s hole, feeling the slick slide of lubricant and semen. Smiling against the prostitute’s neck Dean kissed his ear and shoved the finger in to the second knuckle. Castiel whined then gasped as Dean found his prostate.

Pulling the finger out Dean grabbed the other man’s hip and lined their bodies up, but Castiel pulled forward, “condom.” He said with a sigh.

Groaning Dean rolled onto his back reaching over his head and groping across the top of the bedside table. Finally he found the folded stack of foil packets tugging it to him. Ripping one of the condoms off the line he tore the packet open with his teeth cringing at the taste of tinfoil and lube.

Pulling back he slipped the rubber on then leaned into Castiel’s body again. The smaller man shuffled briefly raising his right leg so that Dean could slip in. Dean pushed forward eyes closing as Castiel’s tight heat enveloped him. Pulling out Dean grabbed Castiel’s hip in a bruising grip and thrust hard. The other man was still slick and loose from before so the minimal amount of lube on the condom was enough still the prostitute let out a long shuddering moan as Dean fucked into him.

Reaching around Dean found the other man was only half-hard and tugged his dick, but Castiel just settled his hand over the agents. Knowing that the other man had already come several times that day Dean just stroked him leisurely waiting to see if he came. Finally Castiel stiffened gasping out Dean’s name and a thin trickle of fluid dribbled over the agent’s hand. Dean smiled and thrust in the tight body until his own orgasm washed over him, the second that day and he slumped forward curling around Castiel’s back.

 

 

Solo wandered the lower level of the Abbey. The Casino was still open even at one o’clock in the morning, but the restaurant and bar were long closed. The front parlor was empty and the custodians were cleaning. Sighing, the senior UNCLE agent settled into a chair pulling out his phone. But he stopped, glancing at the long staircase to the upper floors.

At a small table in the rear of the casino the red-haired bartender was slumped over a cup of coffee IPhone in hand. She glanced up as Solo slid into a chair opposite her.

“Anna,” Solo said with a smile. Cocking her head Anna grinned at him, “Yes Mr. Solo. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Well dear, I know the bar is closed, but I would like to buy a bottle of champagne.”

She frowned, “Well, it is a bit irregular, but the guests do have champagne and wine sent up to the rooms all the time. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get a bottle from the cold storage in the casino.  I’ll run and get it. I’ll have to add it on to your tab tomorrow.  Korbal perhaps …”

“On no, no let’s go for the Dom Parignon. “

“Aww,” she said with a smile, “so you’re finally breaching the Ice Palace.”

Anna appeared a few minutes later with a green bottle slick with condensation swaddled neatly in a white cotton bar towel and a slip of paper. She settled to bottle on the table and handed the ticket to Solo. He tried not to wince at the price as he signed and gallantly bowed to her.

“You’ll have to get past Uriel. The upper floors are off limits this time of the night. Unless you are strictly invited.”

Winking at her Solo smiled, “I don’t think I’ll have that problem. Uriel seems to like me a great deal more than my does my partner.”

Anna laughed, “That’s because Uriel’s been trying to get into Cas’s pants since they both came to work here ten years ago. Dean got to him in just three weeks.”

“Well, Winchester does have his charms, for the big bruiser that he is.”

Solo rose tucking the towel wrapped bottle under his arm, “Although subtlety is not one of them.”

“Thank God for that. Cas is so socially clueless sometimes if Dean had been trying to be subtle they’d still be staring at each other across the room.”

 

Taking a deep breath Solo sauntered across the room the foot of the grand staircase leading up to the west wing. The big bouncer from the door was leaning casually against the banister staring unblinking at the agent as he approached. Putting on his best smile Solo nodded trying to skirt around the other man, but Uriel would not be dodged.  He moved to the left blocking Solo on every front.

“No one upstairs after hours without a strict invitation.”

Waggling his eyebrows Solo made a slight bowing motion raising a hand and patting the bigger man on the arm. Uriel looked sorely offended until he caught sight of the hundred dollar bill folded neatly between the agent’s thumb and forefinger. Sighing heavily Uriel shook solo’s hand firmly pocketing the bill and stepping aside.

He shot Solo a smirk, “Good luck…you’re gonna need it.”

“That remains to be seen my good fellow.” Solo ascended the staircase with a jaunty strep humming under his breath. When he reached the landing the agent quickly glance left then smiled as the golden room number were softly lit by small wall sconces located mid-point between the room doors.

The room he was looking for was just down the first hall to the right and Solo paused briefly hand sliding through his hair before h tapped lightly with one knuckle. The door opened and an annoyed face appeared blue eyes narrowed, “What do you want?”

Without a word Solo raised the bottle making sure that the towel fell away to reveal the gold label with its ornate black script. Illya glanced at the champagne then back at the man standing at his door before shrugging one slender, elegant shoulder. “Well, I suppose you may come inside.”

“I am sincerely counting on it.” Solo replied with a grin.

 

 

Michael Lambert was a practical man. When his experimental phase of the N1Z1 virus on large primates came a positive conclusion he knew that the next step was human trials. Now looking at the man lying on the metal cot in his cell the doctor felt a deep abiding sensation of victory settling in his gut.

Dale Riley had not been the healthiest of men when he first met the scientist. Too many years of drug and alcohol abuse and just about as many years of homelessness had left a mark on him. He was rail thin to begin with and now the virus racking his body had really taken its toll. He was virtually skeletal as he lay writhing on the bed with sweat pouring off of him. He gasped weakly, couching up a thick wad of yellowish phlegm.

Standing just on the periphery of the cage Doctor Lambert motioned to the man standing at the door, “Mr. Harrison if you really want to see the full effects of the virus you need to come a bit closer.”

Harrison cleared his throat nervously, “I’m quiet alright over here, doctor.”

“Really, there’s no need to be so cautious…”

“I think that…” the other man said making a wide gesture at the dying man on the cot in the cell, “is evidence to the contrary. I’ve never seen symptoms so severe.”

Lambert chuckled. “Your hazmat suit will keep you protected.”

Gingerly Harrison stepped down into the room. Sighing loudly he walked slowly over to the doctor staring between the bars at the nearly dead man in the cage. “So when do you think the virus will be ready for distribution?”

“Well,” Lambert prevaricated, “That is the question. I know that the virus will likely mutate once it’s released into the environment. That is almost guaranteed. Its how the virus mutates that we must be concerned with. A raging virus that goes out of control is of no use to us. We need to be able to predict the outcome and use it to our advantage.”

 “Are you sure of that? What kind of virus is this?”

“It’s a virulent form of hemorrhagic fever. An offshoot of Ebola, first discovered in this country in 1587 in Roanoke, Virginia. When Walter Raleigh settled the first colony two years earlier if failed miserably. John White came with the second group of settlers. He finally made it back to the second Roanoke Colony in 1590 and all the settlers were gone. All he could find was the word Croatoan carved in a tree.”

“And that means what to me?” Harrison snapped. Lambert sighed motioning again to the now still, quiet man on the cot.

“Croatoan, my dear Mr. Harrison, virulent hemorrhagic fever which swept the colonists and killed them all. The natives were naturally immune but the English colonists didn’t stand a chance.”

Harrison baulked, “If it’s that dangerous how can you justify releasing it in the general population?”

Lambert huffed, rolling his eyes, “That’s what THRUSH is paying me the big bucks for, Harrison. I did some tinkering with it, a little genetic fine tuning and we plan on introducing small amounts in various areas. We want to destabilize most world governments. In fact, we have vials of virus ready to disperse at a moment’s notice.  Third world countries will go down without a fight. The more advanced areas will try and immunize, and given that most people in the United States have been immunized against various flu and pneumonia strains it will take longer for the population to decline, but in a few months THRUSH will be able to swoop in and take over. It all depends on control, hence the hazmat suits…we don’t want an uncontrolled release. Every employee of the lab is to report an accidental exposure immediately and go into quarantine.”

Harrison grunted leaning in close he reached out staring intently between the bars of the cell. Suddenly he over balanced and raised a hand to catch himself narrowly avoiding crashing his head into the metal bars. Lambert jerked around grasping the other man’s arm. Harrison clasped the bar in one glove clad hand letting it steadying him, but his hand slipped and a rough piece of metal on the inside of the bar pierced the heavy-gauge rubber of the glove. He cringed.

Chuckling Lambert helped the other man stand up, “It’s a damned good thing you didn’t hit your head. It would have left a nasty gash, and we can’t have that.  My subjects lose control of their mental state early on; they have a nasty habit of touching the cell bars, leaving virus behind. N1Z1 is highly contagious, any exposure it almost a certain death sentence. You would have been confined until properly dealt with.”

“Dealt with?” Harrison queried nervously. Lambert cocked an eyebrow at the dead body on the cot in the cell. The other man swallowed hard, sneaking a glance at the now bloodied tear in the glove. Quickly he wiped his hand against his hip smearing the blood on the suit. Closing his fingers loosely Harrison quickly followed Lambert out the lab doors.

As the two men exited the lab Lambert flagged down a passing nurse, “Oh, Patty…Subject 13 expired just now. Have a couple of the orderlies take the cadaver into the dissection labs, then  make arrangements for the decontamination team to go over the cell.”

The doctor directed the other man to the decontamination showers. They stepped into separate booths and Harrison noted a large black and red sign shaped liked a stop sign on the wall of the booth. It read, “Any accidental exposures to virus must be reported to the senior staff, and any exposed party must report to security immediately.” He glanced around quickly rinsing the hazmat suit as directed then stripping it off. Carefully he inspected the ripped glove. The cut was small, less than an inch and barely noticeable.

With the suit washed Harrison stripped down stepping under the spray of warm water. There was a wall mounted dispenser of antiviral soap on the wall. He quickly and thoroughly washed his body paying particular attention to the tiny cut on his finger. By the time he was finished scrubbing the cut had stopped bleeding and was a tiny white mark indistinguishable from the surrounding skin. He felt better. Surely he had not been exposed and the antiviral soap would have cleaned out the wound effectively.

As Harrison walked out of the locker room and into the lobby he hummed a jaunty tune he heard on the news that morning. Smiling he waved at the receptionist and the guard on duty as he headed out of the lobby and into the parking lot. By the time Harrison had reached his car the tiny cut on his was a fading memory except for the insistent throbbing in his hand. Still he wasn’t worried; surely nothing could happen from such a tiny injury, he had absolutely nothing to worry about.


End file.
